


contingencies

by honey_beeing



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Actor Harry, Actor Louis Tomlinson, M/M, Older Harry, Older Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_beeing/pseuds/honey_beeing
Summary: where Louis and Harry are actors who long ago were married on set and find out too late. Like twenty five years too late.





	contingencies

_ **Hi, Husband.** _

Louis stares at the message for seems like an entire minute. It's a crisp Sunday, one of the only off days he appreciates. He had woken up later than he expected himself to and by the time he had come downstairs for a spot of tea, the clock's arm was favouring noon rather than the morning.

He had simply sat down for ten minutes, devouring his way through the not-so-modest brunch his cook had left him when it chimed on his phone.

Stopping mid-chew, Louis sets his fork down to reply. _Mate it's 11 am you can't be drunk_

**_I'm not drunk, Lewis_** comes the reply.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. So it was true. Harry wasn't drunk; if he was, his punctuation would be out of place and his habit to call him Lou-Lou would come out to play. It also didn't seem like he messaged the wrong person. Didn't hurt to remind him.

_Wrong person, love. Don't let the red tops catch you going about calling me your hubby the nation will have a meltdown_

Next minute, Harry is calling him instead to replying in text. What a menace.

Louis simply rolls his eyes and stuffs his phone against his ear and presses his shoulder against it. "Good mornin'," he grumbles as he cuts up his french toast with a fork and knife in either hand. "Wha' are you up to now?"

Harry's voice is so cheerful, it should be illegal. "Hello, dear. Having a nice breakfast, are you?"

"Nice up until you began botherin' me," he retaliates warmly. "What was it you wanted, then?"

There is air in the place of Harry's immediate reply. Louis can hear the smile he's suppressing in the meanwhile. "Did you know we were married?"

"We're what, now?" Louis shakes his head at his plate with an amused grin, busying himself in dunking his toast in jam. The pantries were empty, he might have to ask Lyndie to get the groceries. "You're going t'need more than just that to get me laughin' at this early in the mornin'."

Harry's still smiling. "Louuuuuiiiiiiis," he whinges. The man was bloody forty-five years old, how does Louis put up with this? "I'm serious. Ask your agent."

"Doesn' sound like you are."

Huffing like the child Harry Styles has always been, he murmurs. "Fine. Don't listen to me. It'll come back to beat you in the arse." He talks past Louis's oh shut up and barrels on like he can't deal with it. "What are you up to, though?"

"I have a press meet, Harold. Not all of us can bring out lines of clothing and be elusive like you. I have to socialise, you see."

Harry hums around what sounds like a smirk. "Right, right. Don't wanna bother you then," he doesn't sound particularly lamenting. "I'll leave you to it." There's a concealed lilt of teasing in his voice, the perfect amount to rouse subtle suspicion.

"Alright," Louis stretches the word awkwardly and looks down at his french toast, hoping it'll give him words. They never talk in the mornings if they did, unless it was hungover grunts once in a while. They've always had a casual flirting relationship that made an occasional appearance publicly, aside from the once-in-a-while texting. He supposes Harry's perpetually been in the picture, somewhere in the background, obviously since he's been around for so long. "I'll be off."

To that, Harry doesn't seem to object. His tone has too much nonchalance for it to be considered natural. "Off you go, then. Bye, Lou."

As the call ends, Louis frowns at the black screen of his phone. Huh. Perhaps there wasn't much to mull on, not when Harry was a wonky person in general. Louis shakes his head and goes to reply to the group chat between Leila, Coby and him.

From the side of the stage, Liam makes a cut-throat gesture, implying that the time is up and that they must get going for the next engagement. Naturally, the thing Louis follows through with is to say "We have time for a few more questions, I suppose," with a smirk. He can see Liam hissing at him, an affronted expression takes over his usually calm features.

A multitude of arms shoot up in the room, a buzz starting up.

By the end of the table, Clay Dobbins points to a fan amidst the mob. "Yourself?"

The fan bounces up, grinning wide and almost taken aback. "My, uh, question is for you, Lori. As the Temporal Agent, what do you think she'll do now that she's forked? I want to know what you think will happen."

Lori cranes her neck to glance at Miles and Louis. "The real ones who can answer that question are at the end of the table," she says coolly. Mostly, because no one but Louis and Miles know the story for the next season. Lori turns back to the girl, still. "I dunno, really. I know I've been playing her for a while now. She's indecisive and aggressive. Very impulsive too, but I still can't read who she is. If anything might happen, it's that she might even go back to undo some things. Might just be another paradox on its own."

The girl seems satisfied and sits down.

"One more question," calls out the actor next to Clay, who's name Louis always forgets.

A man who's seemingly in his thirties gets chosen. "Is it just me or do the Temporal Agent and Madam Zebunissa look the same?" At that, the buzz grows in volume. A theorist it is, then. "We know that the Agent Jumps time to define her own fate, and change it. Is there a chance that they're the same person?"

"What's with all the intellectual questions," harrumphs Clay. "What happened to the days when they wanted to know who we were doing and what we were doing?"

The crowd titters with laughter.

Miles glances at Louis and slowly leans towards his mic. "I like this thought of yours. I won't reveal if you're right or not." Mostly it isn't. Both actresses were dark-skinned women, who got cast at the same time without any heed to their race. "You'll just have to wait and watch." He pauses, with his unsure look behind his glasses. "On to you, Louis?"

As practised, Louis sits up in his chair and answers. "I wouldn'' say anythin' yet, but there's always a chance for the Agent to be anybody else. It can happen because of the predetermined paradox or the forking or the multiplication of universes. But, yeah, there is quite a large chance it could be real." He winks at the intrigued man, who's shuffling nervously on his feet. "As Miles said, wait and watch, lad."

Somebody else's agent must have reached out to them about the schedule because Lori is wrapping up the press meet quickly; which was more of the fan session than anything since not many reporters showed up. Promo will go well.

The crowd leaks out of the hall and one by one, the actors leave the stage for the green rooms, accompanied by bodyguards dressed in flattering black shirts. Miles claps him on the shoulder and goes on his way.

For a few minutes, he sits back watching the empty room with its silence, sighing to himself. That is until Liam trots in. "Your next meeting is postponed to tomorrow. You should have the rest of the day in," he declares, dragging out the chair next to him and plopping down.

"Good, good."

Relaxing further into his seat, Louis pulls out his phone, forgoing Twitter and Instagram completely for the Whatsapp notification of Harry's pictorial message of a meme. His head flies to the morning's events. He supposes it won't hurt to ask Liam, even if there is a slight chance he might be embarrassed. "Liam," he starts. "Harry messaged me today. After a very long time."

Beside him, Liam is on his phone too. But, he looks much busier. "Is that right?" he asks distractedly.

Maybe Louis won't throw the bait out immediately. "He asked me to ask you something. Apparently, you would know."

Liam looks up, intrigued. "Know what?"

Shrugging, Louis glances up at him with narrowed eyes. "Dunno," he continues to play. "He said you would know." The feeling of relief that Harry is just joking, begins to take effect. Thing is, Harry's never serious about these kinds of things. Most days it's hard to tell.

But, then, Liam's face contorts with one of remorse. "Louis..." he mutters. Oh no. "I didn't how to tell you. I'm supposed to know these things beforehand, and I feel idiotic for not knowing earlier. We could have done something like suing him-"

"Liam," he enunciates calmly. It isn't like his blood is roaring or anything. Or that he's feeling anxious, nope. "What is it?"

It seems that his agent needs time to catch his breath, ironic as it's his job to make Louis catch his breath. "Remember one of the first films you made? _Riot of Hearts_?"

Of course, Louis remembers. It was an indie film that didn't fare well, but it was the first film that Harry and he starred together in. They were told they didn't have any on-screen chemistry, which was surprising if the amount of off-screen chatting up was taken into consideration. Later, they appeared in movies together, just never as a couple again. "What about it?"

"That scene where you confess your love to Harry in court and ask him to marry you? The actor playing the judge there was an actual judge. So, it was like, an actual marriage declaration. Val called me and Niall the other day asking if he could use it as an anecdote for an interview. Quite the shocker it was for us. Lord knows he's kept it for so long."  
Louis tries to blink out of his dizziness. "What did both of you say?" Being the drama queen that Harry was, he would have been fine with it. Niall was literally his babysitter at times.

"Of course, we both said no. We wouldn't know what kind of press it would attract."

So, it's about the press then. Typical Liam; he doesn't seem as fazed as Louis, who's having a crisis on the inside. If Liam was, he wasn't showing it.

He takes a moment, running the old scene in his head. "Hang on," he mutters. "We were in character, doesn't count."

"You said the words 'Harry, will you marry me' in front of a legal judge. Coincidentally, the same name. You're married according to the court of law."

Louis swats at the air around his agent. "I'm sure that's not true. I'm sure a loophole can be found. I mean, we haven't even signed anything. I'm sure we can diminish it or take care of it. It's not like someone would go looking for the evidence."

"True, but-"

Breathing erratically through his nose, Louis glares up at him, massaging his temples. "Not the time, Liam. You're certainly not helping."

It shuts up Liam for a significant amount of time.

(After a chat with Niall, they decide to do nothing about it since it'll only attract unwanted attention. The agents think it'll be a nice joke for the future as neither of the actors have been married before or will be soon. Louis thinks they're idiots and he doesn't know what Harry thinks.)

***

As extravagant as the evening was going, Louis has to look away from the lights, cameras and the screaming fans to glance at the starstruck expression on his sister's face. The minute they had slid out of the car, he had to help her out through her daze as she peered around like it was a lucid dream. All while muttering, 'this is so much better than on the telly' over and over again.

Louis chuckles and wraps an arm around her shoulder, leaning closer to whisper. "Not too bad for your first awards show, eh?"

Doris looks up at him with scintillating eyes. "Louis, this is so..." She can't seem to be able to finish her sentence, so he just pats her back in understanding.

An interviewer is waiting for them amongst a crowd, beckoning them over a swipe of the cue cards in her hand. She brushes cheeks with him and starts with an enthusiastic greeting that's so long and sort of not understandable in her Newcastle accent. But, he catches the tail end of something along the lines of how it feels to be there.

"Obviously, it's marvellous. I've been comin' to the BRITS for so many years, but it never gets old, does it," he says with a smile, just like he practised.

The woman laughs like she's supposed to. "Who have you brought with you? A hot date?"

Louis scrunches his nose in reply. "No, no. No date," he gestures for Doris to come around from behind the camera. As she joins him, the shot pans out and focuses back on them. "This is me sister. She's never been to one o' these t'ings before, so it's good t' know I'm makin' her evenin'."

After that, there's a game of reading out tweets from the fans, a few idle questions, an age-old demand to know who he's wearing; something he can never remember despite going through the motions every year many times. Doris swoops in and answers "Valentino" for him. Clearly, his sister has it more together than he does.

They're lead to their respective table and are met upon the sight of Liam already seated and scrolling through his phone with knitted eyebrows. There are a few empty chairs with no names on them, a few with a couple of familiar names.

As usual, Liam ignores him and smiles at his sister. "Alright, Doris?"

Just as Doris has begun to answer, Louis drowns out the pleasantries with a flute of champagne from a waiter loitering nearby. It's so easy to get drunk when you're old.

Soon enough, the rest of the actors and actresses take their seats at the table. He does a good job of introducing himself to all of them- some he knows of and some he knows in person. Adjacent tables greet him all the same and congratulate him on the nomination. The rest of the time goes in getting tipsy and introducing Doris to the array of celebrities at their catalogue. She gets pink-cheeked and starry eyes, and maybe it was a good thing coming to these shows after all.

The ceremony kicks off with a killer performance by a band that he knows his children listen to; having seen them on posters stuck on Leila's bedroom walls. He misses having the twins around. After their mother moved back to New Zealand, they were old enough to try to make it back and forth between both of them- often tired of all the travel. He hated that he always missed them, but that was the way of his life.

His melancholy and niggling thoughts push him through most of the event, and before he knows it, Doris is shaking him out of his daze and pointing to the stage where the nominations are playing out on the screen. His name makes an appearance, and he makes an effort to sit up straighter for the live camera to catch his reaction.

Fairly the cameras must get good footage because he is genuinely shocked to win the award of Directorial Debut, even though it's the second season of his show. He lets Liam and Doris hug him before he trips past the tables, nearly too tipsy for walking properly.

The stage is as daunting as it's always been, never changing in its intimidation and perhaps he might never get used to people's acceptance or awards. It's like the first time he had gotten an award- A People's Choice that shook him as nothing did in his meagre years of twenty-five. Now another twenty-plus have gone by and it feels just the same.

Luckily, he can conjure up a speech that's half decent and half humorous. Getting most of the cast and crew's name in the few minute spaces is tough, he rushes through it, out of breath. The camera probably pans in on the actors and searches frantically for the producers who couldn't make it. Again, tripping off stage for a few photos and another interview backstage with his clammy hands around the statuette. The rest of the BRITs goes that way; drinking coloured drinks and laughing with people he doesn't know very well.

He returns to the table by the time the entire gig is and is on standby for the afterparty. He knows the plan; they're going to hang back for a while before heading home. He's too old for all the hard alcohol and drugs the youth seem to be doing these days. As usual, Liam leaves early to go home to his wife and dogs. The entire hall is scattered with groups of people making conversation within themselves. Louis knows he has to go out and socialise, but he'll be buggered to say he's lazy.

"Hello there," the chair next to him scrapes the floor and onto it plops a drunk Harry Styles. He's grinning, spaced out from his state. "Congrats! You look ravishing, darling."

The man looks like he did when Louis saw him last year; curly-gone-straight hair, ridiculously vibrant suit, dimples in check. It's like he never changes at all.

Louis rolls his eyes and accepts the hug, making sure to kick Harry's shin in retaliation. "You, on the other hand, I can tell your liver is hatin' on you. We're too old for this, Hazza. Maybe you should remember that."

"Take it easy on me, Lou-Lou," Harry says with a wink. "After all, I am your hus-"

"Harry, meet me sister, Doris. Dottie, this is me old colleague."

Doris says hello and shakes his hand.

Sitting back, Harry frowns at him. "Colleague? You wound me. I'd say we're friends."

Louis wonders if Harry was always like this. If he was brave enough to speak his mind and not care what came out of his mouth. Or if it was the alcohol doing it for him.

"Anyway, nice to meet you, Doris. This is," he points to his side where a meek boy is sitting, Louis hadn't noticed he was there at all. He can't be older than an average uni student, looking terrified at being addressed by Harry Styles. "Sorry, didn't catch your name, love."

"Charlie," the boy whispers, cheeks colouring red.

Harry claps his back. "Yes, Charlie. He's..."

"A seat-filler," answers Charlie. "I came just a while back. They did a whole background check on me and everything, only for one hour."

Louis nods gravely. "Didn't know they did those for the BRITs."

"It's good pay."

Harry turns back to him. "You staying for the after-party?"

A snort escapes Louis at the insinuation. "No one wants an old man at a hardcore party, mate."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You're a silver fox, you. Aged like wine, haven't you," Harry says with another wink.

Well. Louis will have none of it. "What about you? Going to the after-party?"

"I wasn't going to, but I'm sure Niall has changed his plans," his points across the room to the ultimate picture of Niall with his greyish-brown hair, making Shawn Mendes laugh his bloody guts out. Both of them are stuck in their laughter, oblivious to the talk around them.

Louis giggles. "Trust Niall to befriend the ankle-biters of the industry." When he glances back, Harry is looking right at him with calculating eyes, solving something in his head that doesn't come out his mouth. "What?"

"Can I kip at yours?" Harry asks suddenly, but with the speed, he's saying the sentence, it would have been expectant, but still.

He knows he can't dwell on it too much. He shouldn't think about it at all. "I don't think that's a good idea, mate. Plus, Doris is staying at mine."

Harry gives him an impressed look, nodding towards his sister who's sitting right behind Louis.

Somehow, Charlie has shifted his seat to Doris' side and they're in an animated conversation that involves too much of staring at each and too less of space between the both of them. Something in Louis wants to be protective, but he can't bring himself to. He has to remind himself that she's a twenty-five-year-old woman capable of her own decisions, and not the three-year-old girl who hid behind his legs when talked to by a stranger.

"What do you say?" Harry interrupts his thoughts. "Sylas has gone to my mum's for the week since he has hols and I'm by myself, it's bit unusual for me."

Now that Louis can relate to. "Okay. My spare bedroom is set up anyway."

Louis gives Doris the talk while she looks up at him, so cross that she's gone cross-eyed and tells him off about how she can take care of herself. It reminds him of the time when he was teaching her how to chop veggies. He's starting to hate how nostalgic he's become with his age. It does no harm to slightly threaten Charlie on their way out.

They don't have to catch a car on the way out since Harry's driver is parked somewhere in the same street. Soon enough, a Range Rover rolls to a stop before the back of the venue and they step in before they're caught by anyone. The paparazzi all seem to be at the front like they're paid to be.

"Hello, Frannie."

"Hi, Harry. Where to?"

Louis takes his cue and tells her his address. She feeds it into the GPS and they're off. His phone shows him a lot of congratulatory messages, but he only manages to reply to his mum, Leila and Coby before the device dies in his hands. Upon asking, Harry hands him a power bank and Louis takes care of the rest of messages while Harry lets the windows down and shows his face to the wind.

They stop before the gate and the car leaves promptly. As usual, it asks for a passcode that no one but Louis, his mum and his kids know. Everything in his house is neat set and prim and proper, something he knows Lyndie might have to do with. Harry whistles lowly. "Nice place, Lou." He continues to peruse the walls and the furniture.

Louis leads him to the guest room, gesturing to it's inside. "There's spare sweatpants and hoodies in the drawer, towels in the wardrobe. Help yourself. The left tap in the bath is a bit dodgy so you might need to twist it harder."

As he's leaving, Harry catches his arm. His gaze is almost burning. "C'mon, Louis," he says.

It takes one look to understand what he's insinuating. "Oh no. Harry- we can't."

"Why not?" The pout on Harry's face doesn't say anything about being a forty-five-year-old mature man.

Louis doesn't know, because there's really no reason at all. Still, he shakes his head.

"C'mon," he repeats. "It's been years, hasn't it? I know you want to. You haven't stopped touching me all evening."

And that. Louis hadn't noticed he had been doing that.

Harry slides both his hands up Louis's arms and squeezes his shoulders. His touch is warm as he last remembers, awaking a prowling monster in Louis, reminding him of all the times they snuck off between takes in all the movies they've been together in, even the cameos. The warmth sears down to his abdomen and flutters up, making him heady. Maybe he's just projecting, maybe nothing is stopping him. He also knows, though Harry is persistent, he doesn't force himself onto Louis.

All Louis wants to do is dish out excuses till they're delivered the right way, but he can see the evening take another turn- not necessarily a bad one. "It's been so long since I had sex," he says wistfully. Probably years and years. "I'm just scared I won't be able to get it up." He tacks on a self-deprecating laugh for it to come off as casual.

"Oh god, Louis. You're aren't that old," Harry admonishes. "You've got to stop bringing up your age over and over again, it's beginning to sound like an excuse."

Another true statement from Harry Styles.

It's a while before Louis speaks. He can think of all the scenarios that can go wrong with it, and he can't think of many. If anything, he can't understand when he began overthinking such simple things. It was just a yes or no.

The time it takes him begins to reflect on Harry's face, a slow frown morphing his lips.

Finally, Louis says, "Okay. Alright."

Not a second later, Harry's head is dipping down and kisses run down the length of Louis's throat, pressing him to the doorframe. "Great," murmurs Harry to the skin he had bitten down on. His hands are dancing all over Louis's torso like they can't stop. "Splendid. Let's get started."

Louis lets himself be treated to Harry's plush mouth on his skin, his nimble fingers working on the buttons of his shirt. The jacket is half off, already, not that he could care. So long it's been since Louis let anyone touch him like this, and blimey, was he basking in it.

All of a sudden, Louis grasps Harry's wrists and pulls him away from himself. Harry's expression is already protesting at the separation. "Get on the bed," he orders.

Harry scrambles backwards, glee fueling his giggles as he shrugs out of his jacket and rips his shirt out. His chest is exposed, not as chiselled as it once was, but hard all the same. He falls back at the foot of the bed, hands jerking his belt out of its loops and struggling to get his trousers off.

Though it's entertaining to watch Harry fall over to present himself, Louis reigns in his grin and slips off the rest of jacket and strides forward as Harry shuffles back on the bed, looking oh so inviting.

In the way that Harry's looking at him, hungry and alluring. The way his eyes fleet down to Louis's crotch and back at him face challenging, Louis leaves his inhibitions at the door and clambers on to the bed.

Louis blinks awake to confusion, brows creasing because it wasn't his bedroom. Then, he remembers the previous night. He jerks up to peer at the pillow beside his, expecting a note left out for him by Harry. It's a custom he's gotten used to every time they slept together- leaving notes for each other and then leaving. 

There's no note. Or any message on his phone about it.

He doesn't realise he's cross until he stands before the mirror in the guest bath and watches his face with even more irritation. He washes his face in hopes that it might go away, but it doesn't.

Begrudgingly pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Louis walks out of the room. He can already tell it's not going to be a good day; he has no work all day and since it's Lyndie's day off, he'll have to cook for himself. Maybe he can call the kids and ask when they'll come back to London.

Everything on his mind vanishes when he steps foot into his kitchen and jumps at the sight of Harry's shirtless back bent of the stove.

"What are you doing here?" he blurts out.

Spinning around, Harry shrugs his bare shoulders. He's wearing the goddamn 'blow the cook' apron over nothing but a pair of short trackies. "Was hungry and hungover. You have bacon."

As far as Louis is considered, this is not as bad as he thought the morning-afters would be. He believes it should be much more awkward than it was. "Is there any for me?"  
Harry hums in reply and pushes a plate of it towards the right of the stove.

Louis finds himself smiling, joining the man beside the stove. His attention is anywhere but the plate of bacon. He turns to Harry, who's perusing him closely as if gauging his reaction to it all. In answer, Louis wants to say that he's hasn't felt this relaxed in so long, whether it's because of the sex or the company. But, he doesn't.

Out of nowhere, Harry leans in until their faces are close enough to be barely an inch from touching. He's still watching Louis, only now it's as though he can't figure out Louis. He doesn't know how long they stand like that; Harry staring into the depth of him and disrupting an equilibrium like ripples on the surface of his soul. The heat of it surges down and reaches his fingertips where they are curled up by his sides, helpless. Just as helpless as the rest of Louis feels.

Then finally, Harry pitches forward and gives him a taste of sweet poison.

It shouldn't feel like it does; with him being worn down by nature and time and not expecting such feelings to erupt so late in life. Kisses shouldn't feel like a fresh morning, like a dewdrop sliding down a blade of grass. They shouldn't feel like a breath of what's left of the goodness.

Harry lets him go with a soft smack and turns back to the bacon sizzling on the pan like he hadn't just come and knocked off Louis's inner balance. "Shouldn't let it burn," he murmurs with his face down.

Though he's reeling, Louis can still spot the rosy apples of Harry's cheeks, hiding behind his hair.

All day, Louis does nothing but think. He ponders and worries and sighs like a teenager. He knows he should feel pathetic, but he doesn't. 

Harry and he had kissed before, jokingly or fleetingly. Or as to bring on and lead to something else behind closed doors when they many options of men wanting to sleep with men weren't available in the days. It was convenient and Louis never let himself think past it, as it would have only added to the list of complications he had in life back then.

Despite that, he remembers being young and wanting to kiss properly Harry on the mouth, and thinking of it in odd times although not obsessing. After a few years of just wanting, it dwindled down into nothing. And suddenly he didn't think of it anymore.

Perhaps he should have thought of it a bit more. Perhaps then this would have happened sooner.

Where was this giddiness coming from? Where had it been before? He could swear it was around just for a mere second when Leila and Coby's mum was around, only to be gone and never seen again. He couldn't help but think why it wouldn't have been before.

Harry is as pretty as he was twenty-five years ago when Louis saw him for the first time in a makeup chair, the wrong shade of foundation left unapplied on his one of his cheeks. He remembers thinking who and what dare walk around like that. Why hadn't he implored back then?

All he can think about is that Harry grew along with him, there but far away and now they were there. It's no time like the present, and even though much was left to lament for, he couldn't carry on with it.

It's after his second lap of swimming at three PM, Louis crosses to where his phone is laid on a fluffy white towel on the edge of the pool. He makes work of quickly wiping his hand without picking up the towel, presses a few buttons and holds it up to his ear without thinking. The incessant ringing becoming mocking with each second. Just as he's deciding to sod it, Harry picks up the phone.

"Louis," he drawls, awkwardly. "Can I help you?"

"Are you busy?"

Harry still seems to be caught off guard by the arrival of the phone call. "Not really."

"What about tonight?"

"I... I don't think so. No."

Louis sighs in relief. Half of the work is done. "Excellent," he wheezes out. "Do you wanna have dinner?"

"Pardon?"

"Dinner, Harry," he intones. Seriously, how thick is the lad. "Do you want to eat with me? You mentioned you were lonely. So am I. We should- we should do something. We should have tea together."

There's no immediate reply from the other side. Louis's nerves get the better of it and begin to burn off of the silence.

"Yes," Harry snaps out in a daze. "We should. Dinner," he continues to sputter through the simple sentence. "Where?"

"Back at my place, tonight. Any problem with that?"

"No. Not at all. No. Erm, I could cook? And I'll bring over all the ingredients. I make a good fish. Are you okay with fish?"

Louis stifles a laugh. "I like fish, Styles."

"Good," sighs Harry. "Good. That's- very good. I'll be over at six, half-past six? Cooking might be a while. Is that okay? 6:30?"

"More than okay," Louis mumbles around a smile that he directs to the view of his refracting feet in the water.

Harry fidgets on the other end for a while. "Okay, then."

"Okay, then."

"Okay," he parrots. "Erm, Louis..."

"Yeah?"

"Is this a- d'you know what, nevermind. Expect me at half-past six. Have a nice day. Er, a nice two hours. Since you'll see me later. Have a good time until then. 'Cause I'll be around to show you a good time. What? No, I meant-" he cuts himself off, murmuring something like _Harry, you idiot_ and the call ends before Louis can get anything across.

Louis drops his phone back onto the towel, shaking his head with a smile. He wonders where Harry who was confident, who wasn't afraid to speak without a filter went.

He can see how much Harry is squirming through the grainy image of him through the CCTV camera by the gate. As much as he enjoys it, he doesn't waste time in buzzing Harry in. So, when Harry shows up, he's ready and he knows what to do and knows not to turn into someone he knows he's never been, and someone he's never even known.

As the door swings open, Harry is glancing up to match his gaze. He's in a rather casual attire; loose jeans, a t-shirt that looks like it's one of his favourites in the way the graphics have worn off. His hair is pulled back and out of his face, which only serves to intensify the worry lines that are prominent around his mouth and on his forehead.

Louis can't help but smile. "Come in," he says immediately.

Harry skitters in like it's a command he can't miss.

Closing the door slowly with a soft click, Louis turns back to his guest. He can't help but notice Harry must be feeling out of place. He doesn't have the time nor the capability to think it over before he strides forward and takes Harry's face into his palms.

Relief breaks out on Harry's face. He smiles, but it flickers.

And then Louis kisses him because he can't not.

"Hi," he breathes out once he pulls back. Ignoring the fizzing in his stomach feels like a hard task, but he manages to distract himself by dropping his hands to Harry's waist, which is made difficult by the presence of a large tote bag slung over Harry's shoulder.

Harry finally grins, and it looks like sunlight through the cracks. "Hi," he whispers back.

They stand there for another minute or so, observing each other. Oh, what it is to feel young again.

"So..." begins Harry. "Should I begin with the prep?"

"Can I help?"

"We'll see."

In the kitchen, Harry pulls out Tupperwares of chopped up ingredients rather than the produce itself. "I thought this would make it faster. I barely have anything to do, so we can maybe, talk. If you want to."

"Yeah," agrees Louis. "We can talk."

They've never talked before. There was nothing like it involved in all the encounters through the years, but he supposes there has to be a place to start. "I didn't anything today," he starts. "I was bored so I changed sheets in all the bedrooms and went for a swim. That's it. You?"

"I had a meeting as soon as I left your house. Niall and I were sucked into for quite some time. Did you know his son is getting married this weekend?" He abruptly looks up from scouring through the shelves under the island table. "Hand me a nice saucepan, will you?"

Louis moves to rifle through the station behind Harry. "Married? Already? Last I saw him, he was running around without his pants 'cause he didn't like how they felt."

"I feel old just looking at him." Harry shudders like it gives him actual displeasure.

A pan is thrust into the air with a triumphant pump. "Here it is," he places it on the stove and walks around the island to sit before Harry working. He can imagine them already, ten minutes into the future where Harry uses his chef-like expertise to dazzle Louis while he watches the stove and Harry with a front view.

"Have you had snapper before, Lou? D'you like it?"

Louis simply winces. All he knows is that it's a fish.

In reply, Harry laughs boisterously. He seems to be settling in from the unusual atmosphere of them hanging out. "They're put into fish tacos mostly, but you can make anything out of them." He slaps a styrofoam pack of five wide-eyed pale red fish on the marble top. "Forgot to cut this up."

"Harry, this is a lot. We can't eat all this."

"Leftovers," he says back with a wink. What's that supposed to mean?"

He watches in silence as Harry makes a series of tiny incisions on the ends of the fish and runs the flat of the butcher knife through the sides of the fish with a clean cut. It's fascinating to watch, much like a live cooking broadcast, and at least he doesn't pull out nonsense like red wine vinegar or summat. There's a tinier pan with something bubbling and the fish is sitting over the fire with something rubbed into it. There's a deep fryer with small sliced potatoes, and it's all so confusing to watch but Louis loves that Harry is so concentrated in what he's doing.

Midst it all, he answers Coby's message to a frantic where are you and makes idle chat with Harry, ones that don't last long since Harry's gets absorbed back into him, even though it's a work of a half-hour.

Finally, Harry plucks out a plate from the dishwasher and does some magic and presents it to Louis with a flourish. "Ta-daaaaa," he rings.

It's an entire fillet of the fish tinged pink, peppered with green, the once-shiny skin facing up Over the browned part, a light liquidy concoction is poured. The round things are placed off to the side. Maybe Louis can't tell what it is, but it looks nothing short of mouth-watering.

"What's this," he says out of awe. His hands go to latch onto the plate without any preamble and he snatches the fork from Harry's other outstretched hand.

"Herb grilled fish with lemon butter sauce, capers, and potato roundels," he says proudly.

"The hell are roundels, mate?"

Harry doesn't answer him.

They sit down to eat right where they are, Harry simply coming around to join him by his side. Their knees brush together and their bodies are tilted towards each other in hope that they can see each other during conversation. For people who barely talked the way they should have been, words flow out like a meandering stream.

For one, Louis can't stop praising Harry's cooking for at least once in a few minutes, and it only encourages him when Harry turns a darker shade of red each time, quietly saying he would do it any other time if asked. Louis plans on asking. If this is a date like he thinks it, he hopes all dates happen at home with a nice cooked meal. Going out went off the board back in the '90s for him.

"I could really use a vacation if I'm being honest," sighs Harry. "I'm idle as it is. But, I wanna get away from London for a while."

Louis looks down at his almost plate, licking the sauce of the prong of his fork. He should be debating before saying anything, but why stop at embarrassing himself just once. "The kids' mother is having a vow renewal ceremony with her partner this summer in the countryside. New Zealand. You can come along if you want to."

"Come along?" asks Harry, the words juggling around a laugh.

"With me. Come with me. It's nice. She has a spare cottage and everything."

Harry nods solemnly. "I heard she became one of the judges for the Next Top Model Series there. How's that going?"

Trying not to be disappointed in the sudden change of topic, Louis speaks on like it doesn't faze him. "I heard about it through the children. She and I... don't talk much anymore. They've grown up now and there's no need for it, so..."

Neither of them says anything after that, instead a comfortable silence falling around them. Louis takes a sip of him wine to look occupied.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening breaks the quiet. The hairs at the back of Louis's neck perk up with a ringing alarm in his head. An incident like this happened at the old house were had to make sure he had change alarms and lock patterns. Honestly, it's been happening over the years, and he should be accustomed to it.

"Stay here," he says to Harry, eyes turned towards the source of the noise. Without further ado, he hops off his chair and strides quietly towards the front door, taking two lefts till he reaches the curtain that separates the lounge from the rest of the house. What awaits him behind it, is a flurry of jet-black hair and it truly shocks him.

"You both?! What's happenin'? Come to see how the old man is doing?" His voice jumps though he doesn't allow it.

Leila is grinning her widest, satisfied at their attempt to surprise him. She drops her duffel by her feet and surges forward into Louis's arms. "Dad," she strains to say with the way her neck to stretches to tuck over her father's shoulder. She smells like aeroplane, and he's missed it. "You're suffocating me."

With his hands braced on her shoulders, he pulls her back for a good look at her. She's grown out her hair and gotten her ears pierced; he might have a word with her about that, later. "You didn't tell me you were coming!"

Coby appears before them, free of his coat and bags. "I did text you asking where you were."

Louis pounces to hug his son, clapping his back hard two times in succession. "Sneaky, I'll say."

They stand in a deformed triangle, simply looking at each other and Louis gushing over the both of them while he listens to a crazy instance that happened in the airport on the way home God, they sound more Kiwi than he's ever heard them, and though it pinches his ears he likes it.

"Dad," Leila suddenly pipes up. Parts warning and parts inquisitive. "Who're you all dressed up for?"

"No one."

Coby scoffs, "I don't believe you. Where are the signature trackies?"

Louis pretends to flick his ear, watching the boy duck away. "That's enough cheek out of you."

Harry chooses to walk through the curtains right then. He stops short when he notices they have company. "Wow. You lot are home," he says with a surprised smile that soon turns friendly. "Louis's been missing you so much."

Coby, frozen in his place, stares between the two men. "Dad, what is Harry Styles doing at our house?" He's only supported by Leila's accusing glare. 

This time Louis does flicks his ear. "Where are your manners, Cobdaele!"

_"Dad!"_

"Where are _my_ manners?" Harry steps forward, extending his arm to his son. "Harry Styles, we haven't met officially but I have been subjected to quite a lot of baby pictures of the both of you back in the day. He made sure to send them through the post to whoever was willing to see." He smiles charmingly that even Coby who never shuts up does shut up and shake his hand. Then, Harry turns to his daughter, who's met on chance too many times. "Leila, you've grown up so beautifully, darling."

Leila simply beams and doesn't hesitate to give Harry a half-hug.

An awkward silence fills the room. Louis is sure he can hear the echo of crickets from the other room.

"We were having dinner," he begins to explain to his children.

"You know, two men who're children were away," Harry laughs uncomfortably. "Are you both hungry?"

Leila nods fast.

"Famished," exaggerates Coby.

Harry laughs, and it sounds miles better than he last tried. "We have enough for everyone."

Moving the plates and dishes from the intimate kitchen table to the dining area isn't tough. While the children use the loo to straighten themselves out, Harry brings in the pan of fish fillets as Louis setting coasters down. "I'm sorry," he says immediately. He's puzzled that Harry is puzzled. "I didn't know they were coming. I would say this went cocked up but... I'm really happy to see them."

Harry shakes his head at him. "There's nothing to be sorry about. They're nice, curious kids. Are they okay with eating fish or should we make other arrangements?"

Leila and Coby scarf down the remainder of the fillets, leaving no room for leftovers. Stuffing their faces seems to be the best compliment Harry can get since he can't stop smiling. It doesn't take long for him to break out the awful jokes, and surprisingly Louis finds himself laughing along. The men finish the rest of their plates, sitting back and watching the kids finish up the heap of roundels.

Dessert is carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, homemade by the looks of it. Harry pulls it out of his abandoned tote to everyone's astonishment. There's a slightly charred end that Louis takes for himself, making a note to spend an extra quarter-hour planking at the gym the next morning. The kids ooh and ah, but Louis is just astounded at the amount of thinking and time has put into this.

"Was trying to impress you," whispers Harry casually, leaning back in his chair. He goes back to asking the kids what they were about to do now that their schooling was over like it didn't just topple Louis over.

Overall, dinner is a fun affair. Louis finds that he hasn't had this much fun in a long time, not at press meets or award shows or photoshoots. He commits the day to his memory. Possibly commits Harry under the light of his house too.

The kids turn in to kip early, knackered from all the travel. Since their bedrooms are on the second floor, Louis finds no harm in settling in to the guest bedroom again, Harry by his side. But, he makes a note to wake up before them to avoid interrogation.

It's barely past ten when they climb in between the sheets with nothing but boxers on. They're in no mood to do anything other than sleep, having had their fill the previous day. If Louis is being honest, he's sure it'll last him for the next couple of months if the case is that Harry decides not to be irresistible.

They're laying beside each other, motionless with the only sound being the air conditioning. It's much later Louis realises that Harry's breathing hasn't evened out into snores. He flips around to face the man on his side.

At that, Harry directs his gaze at the ceiling to Louis. "Can't sleep?"

"'M a bit too wired up."

"Mhmm."

It takes another two more minutes for Louis to prop himself up on his elbow, resting his head in his palm. He gets a better view of Harry this way, and it's easier to look at him. "I didn't know I liked you, Harry," he says softly. "I think I did a long time ago, and I didn't let meself like you for so long."

Harry turns over to face him. "That's okay."

"It's not. I feel like I've been missin' too much."

A giggle is muffled by Harry's mouth stuffed into a pillow. "What made you realise now?"

"I dunno. I wasn't thinkin' clear, and then I felt like I was. We had dinner. We've never had dinner unless it didn't mean anything or if it was in a group. Then, I saw you with me kids. I just- 'm a fool," he finishes with a sigh. "This is a long time comin', right?"

"It is." Harry narrows his eyes. "Is this by chance anything to do with the marriage on set?"

Abashment is something Louis hasn't felt in a long time, and it almost feels foreign. "It had a role. I had a vivid dream of us wearing wedding bands, it was a downward spiral from there." He starts off sarcastic and ends with certainty.

Harry looks amused; either legitimately believing him or indulging him. He'll never know. 

Louis searches his eyes for anything that says the opposite. "Is it too late?"

Harry purses his lips, his gaze is cast down for a second before he looks back up at Louis. "It probably is. But, not in the right ways."

What?

"Styles, I don' understand half the rubbish that comes out of your mouth."

A full belly laugh erupts from Harry. "I meant no, I don't think it's too late." His laugh becomes a grin which thins down into a serious expression. "There is something, though."

Louis feels his stomach drop. Maybe this had an outcome he wasn't expecting. "You knew this was a date, eh? Even if I didn't be specific. Did I force you into this?"

Harry simply looks unimpressed. "What do you think? I don't just make dinner for anyone and cry over how my carrot cake turned out slightly burnt. You have to give it to me."

"What is it, then?"

Burying his entire face in the pillow, Harry chuckles. His face is red when it pops back up, and he avoids Louis's eyes. "I might have been waiting for a while. For you to ask me out."

_"Excuse me-"_

"I haven't been pining," he scampers to say. "I haven't, I swear. I thought about it a lot in those years though- about courting you. How it would have been and all. I wasn't bothered by your other relationships, but I wondered how it would be to be in their places."

"H-How long?"

The pillow where Harry's face is, emits a deep, rueful sigh. "Very long."

Louis suddenly feels ashamed of himself, the feeling making him sick in the pit of his stomach. "Why didn't ya do anythin' abou' it?"

"We were- we are really good friends. And I didn't want to force you."

"Harry..."

"I promise it isn't a biggie."

Louis sighs, gulping down the taste of bile in his mouth. "How did I not notice? How was I so daft?"

At that, Harry laughs one more. "I've fancied yo on and off again all my life. I remember so many times when I ignored my current dates for your attention. It was frankly embarrassing. Maybe you are daft."

He earns a punch in the shoulder for that.

"Would it make you feel better knowing that I thought the same on a subconscious level?" He reaches out and catches Harry's hand in his own. "Be honest. Is it too late for this?"

In reply, Harry shuffles towards him until their shoulders line up. "It's not, Lou," he whispers. "I'd have you any time, and I'm lucky it's now. Also because I know we're going to be near perfect for each other."

Louis can feel his eyes melting in their sockets, and he refuses to become sappier than he already is. But then, he can't remember when he was ever soppy with anyone. Maybe he can tick off quite a lot of firsts with Harry. Initially, he had expected it to go with more tears and accusations with something cinematic to happen at the end, but perhaps he was forgetting the main thing that always went down with Harry- how easy it was to fall into him, how easy it would be because things wouldn't change just the way so many things would. "I'm going to remember that and throw it back in your face when you fight with me on petty things."

Harry laughs again, something he can't stop doing around Louis, he notices. The sound bubbles over and turns into a low moan when Louis sinks in and kisses him.

**(One Year Later)**

"Congratulations on the wedding. How's married life treating you?" Ellen rests her face against her palm and peers at him imploringly.

Louis shakes his head, laughing in a short burst. "Just when I thought the invasive questions were over," he pauses to let the audience's peals through. "I'm s'posed to be here to promote my show!"

Ellen mock-frowns at him. "We did that already. And you won't give out any spoilers, which," she glances at the audience. "No fun. What do you prefer to talk about? The weather, global warming, me?"

"All of the above," he concludes.

She shakes her head at him, with a slight smile. "Come on, man! We want the goss."

"There will be no goss," he says with the wrinkle of his nose. He doesn't quite understand how he's pulling this off, considering how nervous he felt before going on stage. He reckons he's doing an okay job now. "We're happy though. Really happy. It's been an incredible few months."

As if on cue, the audience coos at him. Hopefully, his red ears won't show up on the broadcast.

"But, why now? Both of you met so long ago and shared a screen so many times!"

Louis shrugs, lips already moulding into a smile. "We didn't think of it much in the beginning and so many years later... It just kinda happened."

The audiences 'aw's again. Dammit.

"You didn't invite me to your wedding! Imagine my horror!"

Louis shrugs in answer, a retort already made up and on his tongue. "Ah, It was a very private ceremony, you see-"

Out of nowhere, the tea table adjacent to the couches flies up and evokes a rather shrill yelp out of Louis, further encouraging him to curl into his seat. Upon looking up, he realises it's a laughing Harry, hair in his face and tears in his eyes, pointing at Louis in a not-necessarily-accusing way. "Oh god, Lou. Your face." Beside them, Ellen is stuck between grinning and laughing at them. The audience doesn't help either, going on forever with their laughter.

"You are a dickhead," Louis says sombrely. They'll probably censor it. Oh well. "'I need to run down to the shops', my arse."

Harry climbs out of the box, revealing a nice suit of teal and black, and plops down beside Louis as if there's space. To adjust himself, he throws an arm around the back of the chair and pulls Louis into him, much to people's delight. "Ellen," he greets with a lilt in his voice.

Ellen's eyes are probably watering. "Harry. Great to see you."

"Glad to be here."

Louis scowls. "Quit acting as if you didn't just coordinate this from ages." It pulls another laugh from the patrons. For emphasis, he jabs at Harry's side. He looks like he was expecting it in the way he had tried to jerk away.

"Is this your first fight?" Ellen looks between them, eyes lighting up with excitement.

Harry gives out a dry chuckle. "More like the three hundredth."

"Oh shut up," Louis barks back, unimpressed.

Ellen cuts across before it can escalate. "We had a reason for calling the both of you in today-"

"If this is what I think it is, it's something for us to know and for you to never find out!" Harry raises his eyebrows, pointing a finger at the audience collectively. One end of his mouth is quirked up, confirming his mock anger. His head is tilted down in what he thinks is sinister, but it's something Louis finds adorable. "We don't like being fetishised."

Ellen shakes her head like she can't deal with them. It makes sense. "As much as we're interested in that, no, that's not why you're here." She glances down at her cue cards. "We've heard a few rumours. A few sources say you've been married before. What's all that about? Care to address them?"

Louis's mouth goes sour and so do the words in it.

"Or..." begins Harry, slowly and dubiously. "We could not address them."

Besides the cameramen in the front, Liam sits with a puppy dog face as though it might help Louis dial down the scale at which he was planning Liam's murder. He has the decency to look regretful though. It wasn't like they were put on the spot, Liam forgot to mention it at all. It wasn't like his arse was on the line, on the telly all over America.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," interrupts Ellen. There's more laughter when Louis glances at her after glaring at Liam for far too long. It's when he remembers this is all fun; he's supposed to be having fun. It's a great story to tell the world and probably the grandchildren. Besides, the world already knew half of it, might as well put it out of misery.  
Louis cracks his knuckles and sits back. "It's not a rumour, but it isn't all that true."

At that, Ellen shuffles back in her chair rather theatrically. "This better be good."

He looks up at Harry for assurance and then carries on. "Harry and I did a film about twenty years or so ago. A film that barely got any reception, mainly because of the homophobia in those days, you know. And..." he looks to his husband for help.

"There's a scene where Mack, played by Louis," gestures Harry. "Declares marriage in court in front of a judge, to Harry, played by yours truly. Funny, I know. Turns out that the actor who played the judge was an actual judge."

"No," says Ellen. Along with her, the audience gasps on cue.

Louis can't help but laugh. "We had been informed only about a year or so ago. It was a joke between Harry and me for a while."

"Is that what brought this on," Ellen gestures between both of them.

Both of them shake their head in unison.

"It was purely coincidental," says Louis.

She teases him for a few more minutes, taking help from the audience as well as the producers. Then, there's a little more poking about them and the kids and more about Sylas' skateboarding videos. Ellen is a good actress and she's doing her job by casually jabbing them, but they don't let their lips loose.

When she calls a break, she chats with them for a minute or so under the dimmed lights before going backstage for a water bottle. It's then Louis leans into him and mutters from the corner of his mouth. "You'll need to sleep on the sofa tonight, love."

Harry turns to him, puzzled. "We have plenty of bedrooms, Lou."

Louis doesn't know if he has to look unamused or rolls his eyes. "It's an expression, Harry."

"It was good fun!"

"For you! I was embarrassed in front of the whole world!"

Harry reaches out and cups his knee. "I can make it up to you."

"That so?"

"Mhmm. I learnt a few more massage techniques yesterday."

Louis tries not to smile, and he knows he's failing at it. "A man after my heart, you."

"Wasn't I always," Harry says with a wink. One of those winks is going to put Louis on his death bed with a smile, one day.

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based off Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeve's real life story. If you don't know what that is, check it out!  
The show that Louis's is directing is based off the 2012 film, Predestination. It's an excellent film that you should definitely watch if you haven't and also I'm not clever enough to come up with a meta-concept. 
> 
> Thank for reading! Feedback is appreciated x


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